


Paralyzer

by writesthrice



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Frottage, M/M, Menacing, Michael likes his men like he likes his coffee, Myan all up in this bitch, Sorta kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 18:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6021064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writesthrice/pseuds/writesthrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Jack's birthday! Yay! Not. The club sucks, the birthday "boy" is making out with his boyfriend, and Michael is bored as fuck. Until someone catches his eye. It looks like the guy has just been waiting to be noticed and has already thoroughly noticed Michael. And, God, he's fucking gorgeous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paralyzer

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, typed this entirely on mobile, so there's probably weird errors. Hopefuly not too bad....
> 
> Also, this took almost three hours, typing on my phone, and I wore giant headphones with "Paralyzer" on repeat, the whole time. Still not burned out on the song, either.....
> 
> Edit: Corrected the totally weird formatting, and also the multiple times I didn't notice that "fucking" had been autocorrected to "ducking". -_-

Michael Jones was slumped at the bar, fingers clenching and unclenching around his glass, trying desperately to not let the sheer pretentiousness of this fucking club get to him. But, it was Jack's birthday and he had wanted to check the place out.

Michael glanced at the older man and had to smile. Must be hard for the birthday boy to check anything out with Geoff kneeling in his lap, kissing him with filthy abandon.

The redhead turned back to his drink, but his grin froze on his face. For a moment, he couldn't catch a breath.

In the heave and push of the dance floor, a figure was standing still, an older man that was all tall and broad shoulders and blue eyes, wearing jeans and a dark tee under a black leather jacket that was the right kind of menacing to make Michael's blood rush in his ears.

He was staring right at Michael.

Michael felt himself flush and took a hasty swallow of his drink, wishing it would cool him.

He couldn't place the guy; it should be that everyone here was part of the same dangerous club, and Michael knew every player. He darted another glance at the stranger and found him a little closer, still staring.

"Jesus fuck, if your body matches what your eyes can do...." Michael growled to himself.

He downed the rest of his drink in one swallow and rose smoothly, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.  
Before he could move, before he could even decide wether he was moving closer or further away, there was a hand on the nape of his neck.

Electricity. Michael shivered.

"I am imagining a dark lit place," the man's voice was soft and smooth as black silk, his breath warm on Michael's cheek. "Your place or my place?"

"Mine," he whispered, his voice a husky breath.

The older man chucked softly, and let his hand slide down Michael's back to rest firmly on his opposite hip.

Michael let the man lead him out. It wasn't until the stranger was handing him a bike helmet that he realized he hadn't asked the man his name.

The older man saw the question before he could voice it.

"My name's Ryan."

"Michael," he answered turning the helmet over and over in his hands, nervous as a teenager for some reason.

"I know. You're Geoff's explosives guy."  
He swung one long leg over his massive bike and looked back. Waiting.

There was an out here, a moment to bail, but Michael pulled the helmet on with only a moment's hesitation.

Ryan's bike roared to life beneath him and Michael found himself having trouble catching his breath again.  
Ryan offered him a hand, and when he took it, pulled him on in front of him, his powerful arms and chest framing Michael's smaller body.

"Oh, God," Michael growled as he felt the older man's body pressed against him so intimately.

"Scared?" Ryan asked, an amused purr in his voice.

"Fuck no. Let's get the fuck out of here."

Ryan laughed, throwing the throttle open and weaving them into traffic with dangerous abandon.

Michael's apartment wasn't far, but it felt like the longest fifteen minutes of his life, with Ryan's body curled around him possessively and the bike vibrating powerfully under him.

When they made it to the parking lot, Michael barely gave Ryan time to park before he had turned around and was kissing him, using a few of Geoff's better tricks while he was at it.

The older man moaned into his mouth, and Michael had to stop, almost completely gone at the sound of Ryan losing control.

He led the way to his third-floor apartment, both of them taking the stairs two at a time.

The moment they were far enough in to shut the door back, Ryan had slammed Michael back up against it, his mouth devouring and taking from the smaller man.

Michael threaded his fingers into Ryan's short brown hair and clung to him.

Ryan had both hands braced on the door, his body crowding close to Michael's and pinning him there.  
With a soft gasp, Ryan stepped back, breath coming fast and hard, and wrenched his jacket off to drop on the floor, his eyes wild.

Michael followed suit, yanking his hoodie off over his head and not noticing where it ended. They came together again, unable to not touch, toeing off shoes and making their way to the bedroom, shedding socks.

Michael pushed Ryan onto the bed and pulled his dark shirt off, a soft whimper of want escaping when he saw the cut muscles and dozens of old scars hidden underneath.

They froze for a moment, Ryan watching in hunger as Michael traced an old bullet wound with a fingertip.

"Who _are_ you?"

"Just Ryan," he answered, a stubborn clench to his jaw. "Is there no mystery in romance anymore?"

Michael snorted. "Fine. Kiss me again, then, Just Ryan."

The older man complied, his fingers slipping under Michael's shirt to start mapping the smaller man's body.

He had Michael in his lap and bent backwards on the bed when he stopped kissing him abruptly, fingers prodding curiously at an expanse of scarred skin on Michael's lower back. He pulled Michael up and stripped the shirt off him to examine the old wound more closely.

It was more extensive than he had guessed; he could press his splayed hand onto the center of the scarring and still have room for the other hand.

"Grenade," Michael supplied, pride bleeding into the word. "I saved Geoff's life. It's how I got to the very top. I've always thought it was poetic or some shit; most people who do what I do go up in the world only with killing, and I wouldn't be anywhere if I hadn't done the opposite."

He half turned, looking over his shoulder to meet Ryan's remarkably blue eyes. He was smiling.

"What?" It came out a little peevish.

"Nothing. Come here."

Michael straddled his lap, hands curling around Ryan's neck so he could tilt the older man's head just right and reclaim those lips.

Ryan cupped Michael's ass with both hands, squeezing and kneading until Michael's skin was hot to the touch. When the younger man broke the kiss with a soft whimper, he moved his attentions to the tender throat so enticing at eye level, and dedicating himself to marking up Michael's pale skin.

He wasn't satisfied until Michael had gone completely limp with languid lust.

He slipped off the bed, looming over the smaller man, and popped the button on his jeans. The hiss of the zipper got Michael's attention, and he leaned up to watch Ryan finish undressing.

Michael's eyes were wide and hungry.  
"My turn, then."

He didn't get up, just slipped his jeans and boxers down and kicked them off.  
There was fire between them, so hot it sucked the oxygen away and neither could breathe.

In half a heartbeat, Ryan was over Michael, larger than life and filling the smaller man's senses. He pressed them together slowly, mouths and chests, toes and thighs, and, slowly, finally, their neglected erections. They moaned into each other.

"Oh, fuck. I'm not gonna last."

Ryan ran a hand through Michael's curls and grinned at him. "Yeah, me neither."

Michael's laugh ghosted across Ryan's bare chest. He reached out for the bedside table and dug into it for the lube, squeezing a generous amount onto his hand and reaching down to slick up his dick, and then Ryan's. He curled his hand around both of their dicks and held on, thrusting lightly so that he dragged against Ryan.

"Jesus fucking Christ," the older man swore softly, pressing his forehead to Michael's shoulder, overwhelmed for a moment.

It didn't take them long to match their rhythms, the thrust and slide and shudder of building, both of them watching Michael's hand and the sweet friction between them.

As they both got closer, their paces becoming more frantic, Ryan shifted his weight to one hand to free the other to reach between them, his larger hand wrapping around Michael's and squeezing tightly, leading the man into pumping them faster.

After just a few moments of that, Michael was snarling Ryan's name and spurting cum across their hands and his own belly.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful," Ryan growled, his own climax joining Michael's.

The younger man reached down with his free hand and smeared it together more on his belly, dragging his fingers through the thick mess.

"Fuck yeah," he murmured faintly, whole body going limp.

Ryan slipped to the side before he collapsed, breathing deeply.

"Shower and then bed?" Michael suggested.

"Fuck yeah," Ryan agreed with a smile.

  
Ryan was gone when Michael got up the next morning, but the redhead found a note taped on the coffee maker with Ryan's number and a suggestion for dinner when they were both free.

Michael grinned the whole way to the office. At least, until he noticed the strange looks. And the whispering. And the abrupt way people would stop talking when they saw him coming.

By the time he was stepping into the main meeting room, he was red in the face and fuming. 

Geoff poked his head out of his office, took one look at him, and dubled over laughing.

"What? What the fuck is going on around here?" Michael's screaming brought the rest of the crew into the room.

Most of them were grinning, or looking vaguely horrified.

"Like none of you fuckers has never fucked someone you just met!"

"Yeah, but not THAT someone!" Even Ray was laughing.

Wait. They knew who Ryan was?

"What are you talking about?"

"You really don't know?" Jack seemed concerned.

Michael shook his head.

"You fucked the Mad Mercenary, and didn't realize it?" Geoff wheezed out, face red and drowning in his own laughter.

The color drained out of Michael's face, and for a moment he felt dizzy. Fuck. No wonder Ryan didn't want to tell him his work name. He brushed his fingertips across the mottled bruises on his neck from Ryan's careful sucking, and realized that the man could have snapped his spine in pieces if he'd wanted to.

Good thing he had wanted to do other things instead.

Michael's good mood was fully restored, instantly.

"Fuck off, all of you. I have work to do," Michael mock growled, stomping to his office and slipping in. He ignored the continued chatter from outside, and pulled out his phone.

"I'm free for dinner tonight, if you're still interested."

The reply came quicker than he thought it would: "Great! 7:00? I'll pick you up at your place."

"You didn't have to hide your name, you know."

This time, it took longer to get a reply.

"I thought you'd run, honestly."

"Nah. I run _towards_ grenades, remember?"

"So I'll see you at 7:00?" 

"If you wear the leather jacket. And bring the mask."


End file.
